“He will regret his actions, I have not a doubt, when he learns that it is you,” Oma said with a giggle. “How will you greet him?”
“I have not decided,” Zaynab said, “but you will have to help me, Oma, by letting me know, as soon as your husband does, when Karim will return. When the vizier asks you what I look like, tell him that I am very fair, but no more than that Tell him that I want nothing of my person known until my husband sees me. I have made myself quite, quite mysterious. If Alaeddin runs true to form, he will surely send word about it to Karim. My bridegroom will come home merely to satisfy his curiosity.” She chuckled. “Men cannot abide a mystery, Oma.”
* * *
When Oma reached her home her husband was eagerly waiting for her.
“Well?” he demanded. “What is she like?”
“She is charming; delightful, in fact,” Oma said. “I have never met a lovelier lady than the princess. We are all most fortunate.”
“But what does she look like?” the vizier asked his wife. “Is she fair, or dark? Slender, or full-figured?”
Oma smiled. “I cannot tell you, my lord. The princess has asked that I say nothing of her until she has met with her husband, but I will tell you this: She is not ugly.”
Alaeddin ben Omar wanted to shout with his frustration. Karim had taken a wife. Malina had a new princess, and no one, not even the venerable Mustafa, had caught so much as a glimpse of her. It was intolerable! He had to find Karim! The prince must return home.
The following morning the vizier rode into the purple hills. He found Karim at Escape in the late afternoon. The prince looked more rested and relaxed than his friend had seen him look in weeks.
“Have you come to join me?” Karim grinned at his vizier. “The hunting is excellent. I cannot remember an autumn when it was better.”
“Your bride has arrived,” Alaeddin ben Omar said.
“Is she pretty?” Karim asked offhandedly. “What does Oma say? I know a proper maiden would not show her face to a man other than her husband, but I am certain Oma has already visited, and has reported everything to you. Is she dark, or fair? Plump, or slender?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” the vizier answered the prince. “You see, my good lord, your bride will show herself to no one outside the harem. Yes, Oma has visited, but she will say nothing of the princess’s appearance except that she is not ugly. Your bride will not speak, nor will she allow her name to be spoken until her husband comes and hears it first. Even Mustafa is forbidden the harem. Your bride is served by her three servants, and no others. She walks within your gardens muffled like a mummy. She has vowed to reveal nothing of herself until you come to her.”
Karim al Malina laughed. He was intrigued in spite of himself. Was this shyness deliberate on the part of his bride? Was she, Allah forfend, one of those coy creatures? “Does Oma say nothing at all about her?” he asked the vizier. “There must be something.”
“Oma says the princess is charming and delightful, my lord,” Alaeddin ben Omar answered dryly. “Nothing more.”
“Hmmmm,” Karim considered. Well, she certainly didn’t sound like Hatiba. Oma was not a woman to demur when asked a question, nor would she lie to please anyone. If Oma had said his bride was charming and delightful, then she was indeed charming and delightful. He had to admit he was even more curious now. Still, it did not mean he would love this woman any more than he had been able to love Hatiba. He loved Zaynab, and he always would love her. But the girl was his wife. He wasn’t a man who would deliberately make a woman unhappy. If the caliph wanted him to get sons on the girl, so be it! If he could not love her as he did Zaynab, at least he might be able to grow fond of her. It wasn’t his bride’s fault he felt as he did.
“I hope my wife is being clever, and not coy,” Karim finally said to Alaeddin ben Omar. “We’ll hunt in the morning and return to the city in the afternoon.”
Oma had hurried to the palace as soon as her husband departed. “Alaeddin has gone into the hills to find Karim,” she told Zaynab. “I have posted a messenger on the road outside the city gates. He will come directly to the palace to warn you when he sees them returning.”
“They will not come tonight,” Zaynab said with certainty. “Karim will not wish to appear too anxious to meet me. He will want to believe he still has the upper hand. But he will come tomorrow, for he will be curious about what the vizier tells him.” Then she chuckled.
“I have never seen you so happy,” Oma said. “Not since the days when the prince was training you to be a Love Slave, my lady Zaynab.”
“I haven’t been so happy since those days,” came the frank reply.
The next morning, Naja went to Mustafa and said, “The princess believes that the prince will come home today. She asks his indulgence in granting her a small favor. My mistress asks that the prince not visit her until the moon begins to rise over the gardens.” He bowed.
“I will certainly pass on the princess’s request, Naja. She is obviously a very romantic young woman, I can see,” Mustafa replied with a small smile. “I feel this bodes well for the marriage of my prince and your mistress.”
Zaynab spent the day with her three servants, preparing for Karim’s arrival. Her long golden hair was washed and perfumed. She examined her body for any superfluous body hair, and removed what she found. The nails on her feet and hands were pared as short as possible. Zaynab’s bedchamber was specially prepared, a decanter of sweet wine and her small golden basket set upon the octagonal tables by her bedside.
In late afternoon as she was eating her only meal of the day, she heard Oma’s messenger come to tell Naja that the prince and the vizier had just entered the city through the western gates.
Zaynab finished her food and then bathed a final time. Rabi rubbed her mistress’s body lavishly with sweet oils scented with almonds. The sky was growing dark. As it was almost winter, the days were shorter. Two lamps only were lit in Zaynab’s day room. Mustafa came to tell Naja that his master had entered the palace and would honor his wife’s request.
“Wake me just before the moon rises over the gardens,” Zaynab told Rabi, and dismissed her servants. She then lay down and slept until her servant gently shook her shoulder, whispering, “ ’Tis time, mistress.” She heard Rabi scuttle from her bedchamber, the door closing behind her. Zaynab arose, stretched slowly, and walked to the windows to stare out. She watched as the full moon rose slowly over the gardens. Her ear caught the sound of the door to her apartments opening. She moved to her chosen position.
Karim entered his bride’s rooms. Her servants were nowhere in sight, and the room was dimly lit in such a fashion as to point the way to her bedchamber door. He smiled. It was beautifully done. His new wife was clever, not coy, he immediately decided, leaving him more interested than he had been before. She would not bore him.
Walking across the floor, he put his hand on the handle of the door, turned it, and stepped into the room. It was dark, but for the moonlight filtering through the far window. He was at once assailed by the scent of roses, and to his surprise, realized that the floor beneath his bare feet was strewn with rose petals. He was almost ankle deep in them. As he crushed them with his feet, their perfume filled his nostrils. He grinned. They had not sent him some blushing, stammering maiden. Clever Hasdai! He had been sent a woman for a wife. A woman of experience.
And then two arms slipped about him from behind. “Welcome home, my lord,” a smoky, whispery voice murmured tantalizingly to him. Slender fingers reached out to nimbly unfasten his caftan, drawing it over his head and dropping it to the floor. “Do not turn about, my lord,” the shadowy voice breathed softly in his ear, sending a shiver of anticipation up his spine. “Not quite yet, I pray you.”
He could feel her warm, silken nakedness against his own as her hands caressed him with sensuous little movements. Plump breasts, a rounded belly, firm thighs pressed into him. The hair on the nape of his neck rose at the touch of her lips as she kissed him, her
hands fluttering over his taut belly. He was, to his great surprise, enjoying himself. Her bold yet sensual touch aroused him deeply.
“You are not at all what I expected,” he said with understatement, and she laughed a husky laugh. “I thought that surely I had been sent some sweet little virgin to breed with, but you are not, I suspect, that girl. Who are you, and what is your name?” he asked her. He attempted to turn about.
“Not yet, my lord,” came the mysterious, whispered reply. Zaynab was amused to feel him already hard as iron beneath her touch. Oma had not exaggerated. Karim had been abstaining from pleasure. She realized she would not be able to hold him at bay for a great deal longer. “Come,” she said, taking his hand in hers, leading him to the bed, always keeping the dim light behind her, her face in shadow. Firmly she pushed him onto the bed, joining him to lie on her hip by his side, her hand gently caressing him still.
It was exciting, and yet frustrating, not to be able to see her face, he thought, but it did not prevent him reaching up to fondle one of her breasts, which hung like a tempting fruit above him. She purred with her own pleasure as he touched her. He was being seduced by a faceless woman. Oma had said she was charming and delightful, but what if she was ugly? His mouth closed over her nipple. Suddenly he didn’t care. She had a body like a fertility goddess, and a manner that enticed him far more than any woman he had known in years. If he must be married to a woman who was not Zaynab, then let this be the woman.
Zaynab reached out with her hand to stroke his lean torso. She had almost forgotten how beautiful his body was, but now her fingers recalled every bump and crease of him as they slid over his flesh. His manhood was standing tall. She found that she was unable to prevent her fingers from closing about him, squeezing him tenderly. He was warm and throbbed with life. She could not stop herself from leaning down and taking him in her mouth. The familiar musk of him burgeoned on her tongue as she suckled him for a long moment, then slowly licked the length of him, encircling the ruby head of his member until she felt his hand, fastening itself in her hair, drawing her away.
“I have not had a woman in some time,” he admitted to her. “Not since my first wife died. Ride me now, my sweet shadow lover. Once I have eased my pent-up lust, we will spend the night enjoying each other. You are skilled, I can see, but there is much I can teach you.”
“Is there?” She laughed, even as she was mounting him, and Karim thought the laughter had a strangely familiar ring to it
She devoured his length within her sheath, closing it about the hard, hot flesh, her muscles squeezing him tightly several times. Then she began to ride him, slowly at first, finally with increasing vigor.
Reaching up, he grasped her two breasts and crushed them in his big hands. She was magnificent! She was incredible! Only once had he known such a woman. Only once! There could only be one such woman! It wasn’t possible, and yet …
Her hair came loose and fell around her shoulders. The moon, reaching its zenith, suddenly filled the room with silvery light Karim saw pale golden hair in his lust. He struggled with his passion, forcing his eyes to remain open, focusing on her face now fully visible in the moonlight.
“Zaynab!” he cried, and his desire exploded within her, rushing forth like a flood to water her secret garden.
Her aquamarine eyes met his, filling with tears of unashamed joy. She collapsed upon him, sated. “I have come home to you, Karim,” she said happily. “I have come home!”
Epilogue
Zaynab, Princess of Malina, sat in her summer garden watching the children at play. Six were her own. Seven belonged to her best friend, Oma. Her eldest son, Ja’far, was almost nine. Habib would soon be eight; Abd-al five; and Sulayman was just past two. Their two sisters, Qumar and Subh, were seven—identical twins, as their mother and her own sister had been. Oma’s eldest, who was Alaeddin ben Omar’s only daughter, had already cast her eyes upon Ja’far ibn Karim. Her name was Al-ula, and she told all who would listen that she intended to wed the heir of Malina one day.
“I think her far too bold in her speech,” Al-ula’s mother remarked to Zaynab. Oma had become the very model of the proper Malinean wife. Her husband had taken no other, although he kept two pretty women in his harem as concubines. They were both childless, and would remain so, if Oma could manage it.
“I find her amusing,” Zaynab replied. “I do not want Ja’far to marry some obedient, boring girl one day. Al-ula would suit me well as a daughter-in-law, if she would suit my son. The choice, however, will be up to him when the time comes. He must fall in love even as we did.”
“Aye,” Oma agreed, nodding.
Zaynab grew silent for a time, contemplating back over the last ten years of her life. Smiling, she recalled the look upon Karim’s face that first night when the moonlight had revealed her identity to him. His countenance had at first been unbelieving, and then when he was certain he was not imagining it, joyous beyond anything she had ever seen. They had wept with happiness in each other’s arms, vowing never to be separated ever again. She had indeed come home to him. Ja’far had been born nine months later to the very day, and Malina had rejoiced with its prince and princess in the birth of a son.
The other children had followed in their time, while Malina prospered as never before. In the marketplaces of the tiny country and in its single city, the people said that the prosperity of Malina was due to the happiness of its ruler and the fertility of his beautiful wife. Malinean silver and produce were in great demand in al-Andalus, and consequently commanded high prices.
In the hills, the mountain clans also thrived under Karim’s rule, their herds growing fat in meadows of rich grass, and selling for premium tariffs at the yearly horse fair that the prince had commanded be held each autumn in Alcazaba Malina. Only a tenth of each sale was taken by the government. Content, the mountain clans were pleased to remain at peace.
The economic well-being of Malina was echoed all over al-Andalus under Abd-al Rahman’s rule. Cordoba was Europe’s most prosperous city, as well as its political and intellectual center, outshining both Baghdad and Constantinople. Missions from France, the German states, Ifriqiya, and the East came to the caliph’s court to pay their respects, to learn, and to gawk. Abd-al Rahman enlarged the central mosque in Cordoba, giving it a magnificent minaret topped with three spheres shaped like pomegranates. Two were fashioned of gold and one of silver. Together they weighed three tons. De Materia Medica’s Arabic translation was completed, and the medical university in Cordoba was founded. Now students no longer had to go to Baghdad to become physicians.
The prince and his vizier entered into the gardens. Alaeddin ben Omar was beginning to show flecks of silver in his black beard. His face broke into a grin as Al-ula threw herself at her father, and he swept her up into his arms, kissing her rosy cheek. “Fit for a prince, she is!” he said, his laughter booming.
“Do not encourage her bad behavior,” Oma scolded her husband.
“Oh, I will marry her one day,” young Ja’far ibn Karim said with a twinkle in his blue eyes, “but she will have to grow a fine pair of breasts before I do, my lady Oma.”
“Ja’far!” his mother said sternly, but then she laughed.
“Just like his father,” Karim murmured, seating himself next to his wife, his arm slipping about her waist, kissing her ear.
Zaynab smiled, turning to look lovingly at him. If anything, she loved him more today than when they had first been reunited. “I would,” she said, “that it could go on forever like this, Karim.”
“Aye, my jewel,” he answered her. “If there be paradise on earth, then here we have surely found it!”
And about the four adults the children ran back and forth laughing and playing, their young faces alight with their innocent happiness, their minds unclouded, thinking about nothing more important than whether their parents would allow them to stay up after dark to catch lightning bugs in crystal jars so they might watch them until they fell asleep.
“T
hey are the future,” Karim said to his wife.
“In the spring,” she responded, “I shall give you another bit of the future, another tiny piece of immortality, my darling.”
“I love you, Zaynab,” he said. “Always and forever it has and will be you, no other, my jewel.”
Zaynab reached up, touching Karim’s cheek tenderly. “How extravagant you are, my dear lord. Always and forever? I shall hold you to it!”
A Note from the Author
I hope you have enjoyed The Love Slave. The Moors of Spain have a rich and varied history, of which I have only touched a tiny part. For those of you who like the history in particular, I suggest the following reading list:
Muslim Spain: Its History and Culture, Anwar G. Chejne. University of Minnesota Press, 1974.
The Moors in Spain and Portugal, Jan Read. Rowman & Littie-field, 1975.
Moorish Spain, Richard Fletcher. Henry Holt & Co., 1992.
The Rise and Fall of Paradise: When the Arabs and Jews Built a Kingdom in Spain, Elmer Bendiner. G.P. Putman’s Sons, 1983.
The Moors: Islam in the West, Brett & Foreman. Echoes of the Ancient World, Golden Press, 1980, 1985.
Andalus: Spain Under the Muslims, Edwyn Hole. Robert Hale Ltd., London, 1958.
The Jews of Spain: A History of the Sephardic Experience, Jane S. Gerber. Macmillan Co., The Free Press, 1992.
And as always, I invite you to write me about my books at P.O. Box 765, Southold, NY 11971-0765.
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